The Reel Thing
by chinyemagne
Summary: Arnold and the gang put together a short film that reflects their everyday adventures. Will Helga as screenwriter turn the project sour? Continuation, R
1. Part I

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Revised Disclaimer: I, Chinyere, under my pen name, Chinyemagne, hereby acknowledge that I do not own the rights to Hey Arnold! nor do I own those of the characters that are referenced within this story. And, much to my dismay, I don't own you, either. However, it is likely that original characters will be created and portrayed within this text, and yes, I own them. Be cool, stay in school. Thank you.

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Note to readers: I previously posted half of this story on ff.net, however I never finished it. I decided to revise it and finish it, so let me know what you think. It's just a regular, HA! adventure, so yeah. ¡Diviértase mucho!

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The _Reel_ Thing

"Okay, we're here. X marks the spot," Arnold said, leading the rest of the gang to the location of the modest plot with a worn marker under a tree deep in Elk Island. The group that followed gasped, and hushed murmurs could be heard as they gazed at the mysterious sight. From the group emerged Gerald, eyes half-closed in usual nonchalance, with Sid following closely behind him. They all knew what was going to come next.

"The Legend of Leppy, the good luck Leprechaun, has weathered a storm of criticism throughout the years since his death, but the memory of the Scotch-Irish enigma has lingered on for over five school terms, five and a half if you count the semester. And, our own Gerald, the keeper of tales and mysteries, will share his story with us today," Sid said, standing back from the group and letting Gerald take center stage. "Take it, Gerald."

Gerald did not hesitate, as he stood on a decaying stump of an old tree, long felled, clearing his throat quietly before facing the crowd of his peers. "Long ago, over twenty years ago, in a place unknown to many…except maybe to Peapod Kid, who vacations there annually," Gerald pointed at Peapod Kid before continuing, "a living miracle was born. His mother named him…Leopold, but as the child grew to hate that name, as any one of us in his position may, he began to go by the name Leppy, the name now and forever synonymous with magic and luck.

"Leppy and his family moved to our town, which was just beginning its struggle through the unfortunate fashion craze of the eighties, when he was only five years old. Immediately upon entering PS 118, it was apparent that Leppy was special---more than special. He was supernatural. For the next four years, Leppy astounded the neighborhood kids, parents, teachers and passers-by alike, with his 'lucky charms.' By the age of nine, he claimed to be a full-fledged Leprechaun, and if it were only an act, it was convincing enough. Several of Leppy's contemporaries have testified to him having found a field of four leaf clovers and finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."

Gerald allowed for the routine gasps of astonishment before he continued with the story. "It was apparent that Leppy was unusually lucky, even if the whole Leprechaun thing was a little bit sketch. Up until his sixteenth year, Leppy had all the 'luck' in the world, although having the characteristic height stunt of a Leprechaun. He could have a date whenever he wanted, he had no curfew, an endless supply of money and, most of all, didn't have to attend school if he didn't want to," Gerald said, smiling as the murmurs of conversation grew louder as the story progressed. 

"Well, Leppy was aware of all the luck that he had acquired, and he was convinced that his living was a divine right bestowed upon him from the omniscient force above. In other words, he believed he was invincible, immortal. One thing led to another, and that very year, his sixteenth year, he found himself in a bet. One of his 'cronies,' whose name has not been pronounced to this day, bet him that if he violated all the laws of superstition, that his luck would run out," Gerald then swooped closer to his audience, adding an air of fright to the story. Inward gasps could be heard. 

"For the next two months, Leppy utilized the well known script of Superstitions and Urban Legends, etched into time by people like us, and was on a mission. And yea, as the weeks passed, he claimed victory over each task. Running under ladders, stepping on cracks, breaking mirrors, letting hundreds of black cats cross his path and…removing moles." This time, the gang really gasped, some uttering 'Ew, gross' at the thought. Gerald cracked his knuckles, preparing to end the story. "The absolute last thing on Leppy's list was…drinking a carbonated beverage and eating pop rocks at the _same time_." This time, the group really gasped, knowing that legend fairly well. "People begged and warned Leppy against it…his own girlfriend cried after him, but it was hopeless. In order to carry out this last act in peace, he came to this very spot on Elk Island, and was witnessed only by Sheena's uncle Earl.

"Leppy, having full faith in himself, took the package of pop rocks, and dumped the whole thing in his mouth, and then took a huge mouthful of soda. What happened next is what makes the story all the more mysterious," Gerald paused, and scanned the audience, catching Phoebe's eye. He paused to raise his eyebrows at her, and she blushed bashfully, and giggled. Helga, standing next to her, rolled her eyes. "Leppy reportedly never left Elk Island. For weeks, he was missing, and search parties were organized on land, in the water, on the island itself, and after about a month, everyone pretty much gave up hope. The only trace left of Leppy, is this," Gerald said, stepping off of the stump and pacing towards the small plot.

"Earl found this apparent grave sight a few weeks after Leppy's disappearance, with a marker with an inscription scratched onto it with a stone. Although the message is long worn off by the torrential rains of that year, it is said to have read, 'Here lies the memory of Leppy, leaving a pot of gold to anyone who ventures to find it.' When Earl contacted the authorities about this sight, and the grave was dug up, there were found no remains, only the clothes Leppy was wearing, and a sprinkling of gold dust," Gerald said, drawing out his words at the end. The wide-eyed crowd continued to stare at Gerald, waiting to see how this story would end.

Gerald knew he had his audience, so he wrapped it up. "Some say he was just an ordinary kid with an unusually strong accent, who wanted to play a few pranks on his buddies. Others believe he was someone truly blessed with a gift he didn't fully appreciate until the water ran dry. Others say he was a divine being sent down to teach us all a little something about life," Gerald let the comment hang in air, as if contemplating it. "But, most everyone wants to believe that somewhere on this island is Leppy's pot of gold that he promised, and that it is ours for the taking. But, as it has not been found yet, the Legend of Leppy the good luck Leprechaun…continues. The end."

As usual, Gerald was showered with the usual praise and applause as he descended from his high-ranking position as the keeper of tales, and Sid and Stinky patted him on the back. "Great job, Gerald," Sid said, as the three walked towards the edge of the crowd where Arnold was standing.

"Yeah, Gerald, I mus' say I do enjoy ur spirited yarns ever' now 'n' then," Stinky said, his eyes still dreamy from imagining the story. Once Gerald met up with Arnold, they exchanged the ritual handshake.

Arnold smiled with anticipation, looking back at the rest of the gang as they gathered around him. "Okay, Gerald, let's do it. Who's in with us?" Arnold asked, rallying the group. The group roared with excitement with a shout that echoed through half the island. "Well then, I say we get our coin finders and our shovels and get to work!" Arnold said, once again arousing a loud response from the crowd. As usual, Helga loomed on the outskirts of the crowd, scowling. She entered the crowd on that note and pushed Curly to the side.

"One side, moron!" she said, as Curly fell to the ground. He snarled at Helga, showing his teeth but not daring to protest her cruelties. "Well, well, well, I see the Football Head and Tall Hair Boy are trying to weasel us into another one of their schemes. And man, this is the most goofy, incredible one I've heard yet. I mean, Leppy the good luck Leprechaun and the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, come on," Helga said in a mocking manner.

Phoebe, always right behind Helga, had her own opinion. "I don't know, Helga, from the manner in which Gerald accounted for all of the facts of the fabled tale, with all of the eyewitness accounts and the evidence that we have all witnessed on more than one occasion, it would be reasonable to conclude that this legend is more than credible, that it is the actual truth," Phoebe said, adjusting her glasses.

Helga rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and we all know why you agree so wholeheartedly, Phoebs," Helga said, eyeing Phoebe and silencing her effectively, as she hung her head.

"Come on, Helga, don't you believe in anything?" Arnold asked, leaning on a shovel that he had picked up from the ground.

"Well, I used to believe that bouncing spit balls off of your football head would bring me free tickets to Wrestlemania, but you see that ain't happening," Helga said sarcastically, folding her arms.

Arnold sighed. "I'm serious, Helga. Don't you get any joy out of believing something, even if it may not be acutally true, but going to find out for yourself?"

Helga laughed abruptly. "Ha, please! I don't go for all of that childhood innocence and wonderment stuff. In all honesty, I'd rather have my brain fried in an iron skillet." That comment somehow disrupted Eugene's sensitive stomach and, grasping his mouth, he began to run towards the shore. Once he arrived there, he could be heard vomiting, and the rest of the kids cringed with the sound. "Okay, that was just kinda gross," Helga commented.

"_I'm okay_."

Gerald spoke up. "Aw, come on, Arnold. If she doesn't want to do it, she doesn't have to do it…she can up and leave if she wants to," he said, glaring at Helga who tossed her head indignantly. "But, she's not going to keep us from doing something that we want. I don't even know why she bothered to come."

"Yeah, I don't know why I bothered to come, either. Come on Phoebs, let's go throw rocks in the river," Helga commanded, grabbing Phoebe by the arm and leading her towards the shore. Phoebe looked hesitantly back at Arnold and Gerald and shrugged.

"Coming," she chimed obediently, although removing her arm from Helga's grasp and going at her own pace. 

Arnold, as usual not being able to bear injustice, spoke up. "Wait a minute, Helga, you can't do this. If Phoebe really wanted to stay, she should stay, instead of you dragging her behind you to be your own company. You're alone with your decision not to do this, and you have to handle your decision _alone_, instead of dragging others behind you," Arnold said, signaling for Phoebe to return. Before running back to the group, Phoebe looked at Helga for approval.

Helga finally threw her hands up in the air. "Fine, since you put it _that_ way Football_ Head_, I guess I'll go along with your little excursion. But, don't say I didn't warn you when you don't find anything," Helga said, as she walked slowly back to the group as Phoebe ran ahead.

"Whatever you say, Helga," Arnold moaned.

Helga, catching up with Arnold and Gerald, walking beside Arnold, laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised if it started raining or something," she said. And, as if it were a cue, small drops of rain began to fall. One landed on Harold's nose.

"Hey, what was that on my nose!" he exclaimed, as he led the group deeper into the woods. "And one on my lip…and on my fingers…and on my arm…and on my…" Before Harold could continue his discovery, the clouds burst forth with huge raindrops, which quickly began to soak the kids.

Helga looked up at the sky, and then smirked down at Arnold. "Well, if this isn't uncanny, wouldn't you say, Arnoldo."

The kids began to complain as they sought shelter in the cave of Elk Island. Over all of their complaints could be heard Rhonda. "I can't believe we got stuck in a rain storm. And after you said it wasn't going to rain, Nadine!" she shouted at her friend. "Do you realize that I am wearing my new, designer boots. They're going to get drenched now, and, I mean, I've just bought them!"

"Ah, put a sock in it Princess," Helga shouted.

* * *

"Okay, and cut! That's a wrap, people!" Arnold said after a few seconds of awkward silence. The uncomfortable silence was relieved as the kids began to talk again.

Mr. Simmons emerged from the outside, and shook the excess water off of the camera. "Good job, class, and may I say that I am impressed by your extreme patience today under these…um…slightly unexpected circumstances. I believe that, with all of you're personal efforts and your unique, individual talents, this project will turn out…"

Helga interrupted. "Yeah, right, Mr. Simmons. So, did you get the whole thing?"

"Well, Helga, yes, I filmed the whole thing, and nothing's wrong with the camera this time…"

Helga interrupted again. "Okay, that's all I want to know. That means filming is done for today, and you can all haul yourselves home!"

Rhonda folded her arms indignantly. "And it's about time, Helga. I mean, look, I have hat hair!" she said, lifting up her hat and revealing the boarder she had on her forehead and hair.

Harold also spoke up. "Yeah, and it wasn't supposed to rain, either. What's up with that!" The rest of the gang agreed loudly.

Helga rolled her eyes. "Well, I have no control over the rain, doi! But, when situations like this come up in the future, you _ad-lib_. Like, for instance, Eugene wasn't supposed to _barf_ in the middle of my line, but that added a pretty good touch, right?" Helga said, as Eugene crawled into the cave, more soaked than the rest.

"_I'm okay_."

Stinky scratched his head. "Wait a minute, fellers, I'm confused. What is this ad-libbin' that Helga's goin' on about?"

Helga sighed in exasperation. "Do I have to tell you morons _everything_! Crimeny!"

"I'll tell them, Helga," Phoebe stepped in, taking off of her glasses to wipe the raindrops off of them. "Ad-libbing is a method of improvisation that is often employed in the theatrical arts, more often in comedies and untraditional roles than in the tragedies of Shakespeare and of the classical works such as those of Homer. When one ad-libs, they extemporaneously insert their own personal flair into the dialogue or into the stage movements whenever and wherever they feel the insertion is most appropriate. The word ad-lib is an abbreviated form of the Latin _ad libitum_, meaning _at one's pleasure_. Some of the most adept performers at the art of ad-libbing include…"

"Okay, okay Phoebs, sheesh! I think they get the picture. Anyway, let's get out of here while the rain is letting up," Helga said, leading the group of kids out of the cave, following Mr. Simmons to Earl's motor boat.

As Helga marched towards Earl's boat, the other kids in her class followed closely behind her. Sheena, who usually didn't utter a word to Helga, ran to catch up with her. "Helga, I think you are doing a fantastic job with the project, like Mr. Simmons said. I believe that perhaps you have found your natural forte," she said, clasping her hands together.

Helga smirked. "Well Sheena, it's good to see that _somebody_ appreciates all I've done," Helga said, not turning back to look at Sheena. 

"Well, Helga, I thought, since you haven't finished writing the screenplay and everything, that maybe you would need, I don't know, a little _help_ coming up with the rest of the story…" Sheena suggested.

"Actually Sheena," Helga began, cutting Sheena off and glaring at her out of the corner of her eye. "I have the whole thing figured out. I just have to write it down on paper and hand it to you guys the next time we film. No problem."

"…because, actually, I had some pretty good ideas about where it could go." Sheena continued. "Like how about, when we actually look for the pot of gold, we discover how badly polluted Elk Island really is and try to launch a project to…"

"Nope," Helga said flatly, picking up her pace to avoid Sheena.

Sid then caught up to Helga. "Yeah Helga. What if you actually let us find the pot of gold, and we get all upset with each other when we can't decide how to split it?"

Helga glared at Sid. "You're talking to me, Hat Boy?"

"Or," Harold said, as Sid backed off, "we could have someone like _Arnold _become the new Leppy, and have him jumping on clouds and stuff!" Harold suggested excitedly, putting his arm on Helga's shoulder.

Helga grunted and flung Harold's hand off of her shoulder. "Sure, that'll happen…when you fly, Pig Boy!"

"How's 'bout we git folks kidnapped by aliens an' stuff an' we fin' out that Leppy was actually one 'a' dem aliens er somethin," Stinky said from the back of the crowd.

"Nope."

Eugene, getting over his nausea, emerged out of the crowd. "What if we make it into a musical, where we all get to know each other really well and bond and…"

"Uh-uh."

"I say we get off of this icky island and go somewhere dry and focus on something else other than stupid urban legends," Rhonda said, folding her arms.

"No!"

Nadine sped up to Helga, kicking a rock before beginning. "I like the idea of using the legends, but, what if we used a different one, like the one about the…"

"I don't think so, Nadine," Helga jeered.

Gerald stepped up, putting his arm around Helga. Helga eyed him dubiously, stopping in his tracks. "Helga, baby, how about this one. We get stranded on the island, have to live here for a few months, kinda like a survivor thing, and just when we decide who's gonna be eaten first, we find the gold? Isn't that story _solid_?" Gerald said, backing off from Helga and grinning.

"No, no, _no_!" Helga said, exploding before she scanned the group of kids. "I am the screenwriter, and this is _my_ job. Mr. Simmons gave _me_ the job of writing the whole story and thinking it up and everything. You are the actors, and the best boys, the prop setters and the cameramen. I am in total control of the story, it was _my_ idea to do this anyway, and when you all agreed to participate, you agreed to work under my conditions!" Helga said, turning violently again to get a view of everyone in the class. "I was put in charge, so I run this. I can call the shots and I can pull the plug. I rule! And if anyone has a problem with that, Old Betsy will take a message and answer you after she's done writing the script. Got it!" After Helga's monologue, there was a silence. Everyone looked form face to face. "Good." Helga said, walking the rest of the way to the ship and boarding it first.

As the rest of the kids silently got on the ship, Earl took notice to their demeanors. "_Arg_, ye seems to be a li'l bit down than when ye farst arrived," he acknowledged.

Helga waived a hand at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's just make sure we get moving, okay? I'm missing the match between Belchin' Benny and The Anomaly."

There is more to come. In the meantime, R&R, thanks. J 


	2. Part II

No disclaimer this time, boys and girls. I said it, and you know it.

Hello, Brunild. Yes, I have a horrible habit of not finishing stories that I start, not only with my fics, but also with my other fiction. I still know what's going to happen at the end, I just need the inspiration and the means to get there. I am working on Miriam as we speak, the next chapter, and Aunt Martha I'll look at once I get Miriam running again. I'll finish this one first, though, because it's easiest.

And thank you also angielabshelga and Chudney for reviewing. :-D :-D

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The _Reel _Thing, continued

Helga trudged down the street towards her house with Phoebe following closely behind her, although having to practically run to catch up with her. As they approached the house, Helga continued to complain about her duties as screenwriter of the class project.

"I can't believe how many vultures we have in our class, Phoebs. I mean, jeez, I could barely take a step before someone was taking it for me," Helga chuckled to herself.

Phoebe nodded. "Yes Helga, I noticed, but I must say that some of the suggestions that our classmates offered for the plot of the story were quite feasible, and I don't see why you turned them down so…so…tenaciously," Phoebe said, slowing as Helga slowed to a stop on her front stoop.

"It took you a while to come up with that one, huh Phoebs?" Helga said, referring to Phoebe's choice of vocabulary. "Try this one on for size…_the quality and or the validity of the proposed plots were not that which was in question that caused me to make the decision that I made_," Helga said, leaning against her stoop, attempting to mock Phoebe.

"Well…"

Helga sighed. "I have no pity for them, Phoebe. I mean, who's the one working here? Who is the one who raised her hand and _volunteered_ for the job that no one else wanted, because it was 'too hard,' or they'd 'get hand cramps' or 'break a nail' or 'uh…*inhale*…something," Helga pointed out, recalling the responses that some of her classmates had made at school. "It was me, doi! I took initial ideas for the story, but that was and is _it_. Anyone else who may have some idea is crap out of luck. They should have thought of that when they refused the position in class." 

Phoebe took this into consideration before answering. "Well, Helga, what's wrong with a few suggestions? I mean, after all, the whole point of Mr. Simmons' project was that we learn to work cooperatively even when we have our own occupations with specific prerequisites. I'm sure actual screenwriters get ideas from others as well," Phoebe said, digging her feet into the dirt between the crack in the sidewalk in front of Helga's house.

"Yeah, but its too late in the game now, Phoebs," Helga immediately said. "I already had to adopt the stupid Leppy the good luck Leprechaun thing for my legend, and that was perfectly ridiculous to start with. I mean, come on, a _leprechaun_? I swear Phoebs, one of these days, you and I could make up our own legend, and they'd eat it right up!"

Phoebe laughed at that comment. "Oh yeah, like that one you thought up in the script. We could concoct an imaginative plot involving your spit balls being projected onto Arnold's head acting as some sort of foreboding to future events."

Helga rubbed her chin thoughtfully before coming up with another possibility. "I've got a better one…we could employ someone…like maybe Eugene, I don't know…to be the living Cupid or something, and say that he lives down in Dorksville and you can send a letter to his address and get a potion for instant true love or something. That would be hilarious!"

Before Phoebe could respond, Big Bob, who had been looking out of the sidelights waiting for Helga to arrive, burst through the door. "Crimeny, Olga, what took you so long?" he exclaimed, looking through the door down at Helga and Phoebe.

"It's _Helga_, Dad."

"Yeah, well, whatever. Anyway, you and your little friend get inside. You're making me nervous, standing out here, like you're plotting or something," Bob said, scratching the back of his neck and allowing the girls room to squeeze inside of the house.

Helga eyed her father as they entered the foyer. "Dad, you haven't been watching the Paranoia Zone again, have you?" she said, as she and Phoebe ascended up the stairs to her room. "Don't worry Dad, me and Phoebs won't be long. I'll be down in time to tape the match for you."

Helga's father, a TV guide in his hand, yelled up the stairs at Helga. "And don't forget, Little Lady, tape it EP instead of SP! I don't want it to cut off again!"

Helga and Phoebe passed by Miriam, who was holding her head as she joined Bob in the entranceway. "B, I swear, you do give me a headache sometimes. What are you yelling about this time?"

Once Helga and Phoebe were safe in Helga's room, Phoebe glared at Helga after the scene her family had made. "Yeah, and my Dad's and idiot as well," Helga said, as if answering the question Phoebe had in her eyes. Phoebe, by now used to the Pataki shenanigans, shrugged and sat on Helga's bed.

"Well, Helga, now that we are in a more concealed environment, I feel it imperative to tell you now what has been bothering me for the past few hours, if that's alright with you," Phoebe said, folding her hands in her lap and looking somewhat subdued.

Helga, surprised by Phoebe's apparent revelation, sat next to her friend, joining her on the bed. "Well, Phoebs, spill it? What's eating you?"

Phoebe sighed. "Somehow I feel as if you have an idea of what I am trying to convey," Phoebe said stubbornly. Helga pondered for a while, before lighting up with a smile.

"Oh, you mean that whole, 'We all know why you agree so wholeheartedly' thing!" Helga said, laughing. "Well Phoebs, I thought it was a harmless joke. I thought you could handle it…"

"Well, I can't, Helga, okay!" Phoebe interjected, beginning to get excited under the topic. "I mean, I know how I feel, you know how I feel, Gerald knows how I feel, but I still feel uncomfortable revealing it in front of the entire class, and the script was a little bit…suggestive."

Helga waved her hand at Phoebe. "Aww, come on, Phoebe. It wasn't _that_ serious. I mean, it was a harmless gag, and it wasn't all that apparent what I was referring to. And if people in our class are anywhere as dense as Arnold is when it comes to those types of perceptions, you're totally safe from suspicion," Helga said, patting Phoebe on the back. "Besides, it's not like you and Gerald weren't candid with the whole thing. I'd be surprised if everyone didn't know already."

Phoebe wasn't satisfied with Helga's response, holding back slight blushing. "Yes, but still Helga, regardless of what you may believe or know that people may claim to believe or know, it is the principle of the whole matter. That's why you have to promise me you'll never write that into the movie again, okay?" Phoebe said hurriedly, getting up from Helga's bed as a gesture to end the conversation.

"Hey wait, Phoebs, are you sure about that?" Helga said, catching up with her friend as they both exited the room. "You know, you could use the movie as a cover for any _ulterior_ motives, you know? Anything you want, as a matter of fact, I guarantee that I could get it written in. A hidden love story, action, suspense, what?" Helga offered graciously as she and her friend walked down the stairs.

Phoebe exhaled, seeming to muse about the possibilities before shaking her head. "No Helga, as tempting as it sounds to use the script to convey the otherwise sheltered feelings that I have, I don't think it would be fair for me to have a say in your plot and not any of the others. And anyway, like you said before, the whole world knows, at least by now. I just don't want to rub it in," Phoebe said, as she and Helga reached the front door.

Helga shrugged, opening the door for Phoebe. "Okay, suit yourself, Phoebs. Just remember what I told you. Anything, and you got it," Helga said, as she waved at Phoebe as she descended the front steps and walked in the direction of her own house. Helga gently closed the door and went into the living room where Big Bob had left the tape to tape the wrestling match. Thinking she was alone, Helga began to talk to herself.

"Phoebe doesn't realize, none of them realize, what power I hold in my hand with the mere possession of the pen that I use to write this script," Helga said, digging both her script and her pen out of the sofa. "With this pen, I can create all sorts of realities, all sorts of dreams and goals that may never come to fruition. I could create the best horror story anyone's ever seen, with blood and guts and gore," she said, pretending to stab the pen into her stomach. "Or, I create the action flick everyone runs to see in the theaters, with my daring hero swinging on vines to save the life of the damsel in distress," Helga said, spinning around and removing her locket from her shirt. "Or, ah, it could be a romance, the story of love triumphing over hate, and all Tall Hair Boys that stand before them," Helga said, clutching her fists as she recalled all of the times Gerald had pulled her away from Arnold. "And while those cameras roll, it would all be true, the real thing. But when they stop, it's all over, and I could use it for an excuse. And gradually, the world will become mine. All mine! Mua-ha he ha he ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaa!"

Big Bob and Miriam, who were in the kitchen the whole time, stepped into the living room at that point, and glared at Helga. Helga stopped her evil laugh, her face dropped, and she looked back at them. For a moment, both parties were in silence. Then finally, Miriam spoke up. "On second thought, B, I think I'll stay home. I don't think we can leave Helga here alone," she said, holding her head in her hand as she shook the bottle of Tabasco sauce in her hand.

Bob shrugged. "Suit yourself, Miriam. Hey, you want an egg role one the side when I order it for you?"

"Bob, don't I always?" Miriam responded lethargically.

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Bob said, as he exited the house. Once outside, on the porch, he muttered to himself, "That's it. The girl's a loon."

Back inside, Miriam returned to the kitchen, and Helga buried herself in the couch while she feverishly wrote the script. In the background, Belchin' Benny and The Anomaly had just begun the match. Instead of watching the match, which Helga was wont to do, she was entranced by the sound of the VCR recording mechanism, as she was lulled by the sound of the tape being wound.

"Okay, lets see, what comes next?" Helga thought to herself. "Oh, I know…its days later, and still no pot of gold, and Gerald says, 'Hey Arnold, man, I'm getting' sick of this," Helga said, mimicking Gerald's speech pattern, then laughing to herself. "Helga, you are a genius. Oh yeah, where was I? Here we go… 'We've been going to this island everyday this week, count them, that's Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday…"

* * *

"…Thursday, and Friday, Arnold! Now, its Saturday, and we haven't so much as found a lucky turd!" Gerald exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air as Arnold wiped the sweat from his brow, streaking a line of dirt across his face. "C'mon, Man. I say we just give it up. I mean, why uncover the legend of Leppy. It's a great legend," Gerald resolved.

Helga, who had been lurking in the background, came to the forefront. "For once, I've got to agree with Geraldo here, Football Head," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "That whole Leppy crap was schemed up by some weirdo who liked to see kids like us foraging through this island, looking for a pot of gold that never really existed. Leppy's whole existence is dependent on saps like us who try to uncover it, fail miserably, and pass it on to the next generation of saps to do the same," Helga summarized, rolling her eyes at Arnold.

Arnold put down his shovel and rested on a large rock that was conveniently behind him when he fell upon it. "I don't know, you guys. I just have a strange feeling about this thing, and I don't have those feelings about just anything. Okay, so maybe there's no pot of gold, but there's something on this island, some type of treasure that's waiting to be uncovered, and we're the ones who are going to find it!" Arnold said, smiling a little more than meekly under his fatigue.

Stinky, who had been searching through the caves with a flashlight, emerged with sweat dripping down his face. "Willikers, fellers, I don' think I can take anymore of this diggin' day in an' day out stuff," he said, leaning against a tree and dropping the flashlight to the ground.

Sid, who was presently fanning himself with a frond, also spoke up. "Yeah Arnold, I agree with Helga and Gerald. We tried, and we were fooled, and there's no Leppy here, and no pot of gold. Face it Arnold…I'm a sap, you're a sap, and we're all saps for believing this whole thing in the first place!"

"Yeah, and besides…I'm hungry, and there's nothing to eat on this stupid island but these stupid berries!" Harold whined, his mouth smeared with the juice of the several berries that he consumed. Suddenly, his stomach grumbled, and a look of fresh nausea clouded his face. "Oh, I don't feel so good," he gurgled, finally fainting onto the ground. Helga rolled her eyes at the site.

"Okay, people, step aside, step aside!" she said, leaning over Harold. She then shook her head. "Well, Phoebs, grab me my first aid kit and let's haul this tub of lard over there before he _dies _or something." Helga groaned, hefting Harold's entire weight from under his arms and dragging him over the path to the shade of the nearest tree. Phoebe grabbed the first aid kit.

"Coming!"

For a while, as the rest of the class emerged from the woods, Arnold just stared at the sight. Harold passed out from eating Elk Island berries, Rhonda with her hair matted and her clothing dirty and torn, and the rest of them equally shabby-looking. 

Arnold lit up at the sight of some of his classmates. "Look, you guys…at least some of us are happy. Look at Nadine!" Nadine dragged Rhonda along to the beach in one arm and held in another arm a large plastic container with holes punched in the lid, carrying a living praying mantis. "And how about Eugene," Arnold said, pointing as Eugene and Sheena emerged from the woods doing their characteristic choreographed step, until Eugene rolled down the beach and slammed into a rock at the bottom.

"_I'm okay_."

Arnold scanned the beach for anyone else. "Hey, where's Curly?" he asked. Everyone looked in direction of the woods. Rhonda, who became animated after Nadine splashed water in her face, responded.

"Who knows and who cares! Good riddance to the demented little freak," she said, crossing her arms. She then saw Nadine's praying mantis and screamed, jumping on Arnold and causing him to nearly collapse. "Nadine, get that…that…that monster away from me!"  
Nadine picked up the plastic container and took it under her arm, as the mantis knocked on the lid. "Aw, come on Rhonda, it's just a praying mantis. Here, take a look. Doesn't it look just a little cute to you?" Rhonda, in response to the question, screamed again. She stopped when she seemed to hear an echo. Arnold, slowly regaining his hearing as Rhonda scooted away from him, heard the second call. A rustling could be heard in the trees, and the cry got louder.

The kids looked at each other, and Helga and Phoebe stopped to listen as they had revived Harold. He sat up and looked around. "What the…"

"Whooooaaaaaaaaaah!" the cry screamed out again. This time, the figure making the sound emerged, and it was none other than Curly, stripped down to his boxers and wearing a loin cloth with a strap strung around his shoulders. He landed expertly on his bare feet in the sand, sliding slightly and raising sand so that after it finally settled, everyone was coated. Curly grinned brightly as he dusted himself out.

"And see, Curly's having a good time, too," Arnold said, trying to liven up the spirits of his classmates.

Curly pranced around his classmates, who were all sprawled out around a rock in the middle of the beach. "I tell ya, there's nothing like the fresh air and sunburn to bring that primordial spirit out in a man," Curly boasted, snapping his cloth strap as if it were suspenders. "Can't you just smell it, Rhonda," he said, leaning against Rhonda.

Rhonda pushed him away. "Eww, gross, get him away from me," Rhonda said, pushing him away and grimacing. As Helga, Harold and Phoebe rejoined the group, the kids watched as spinning sand made its way across the beach.

Sid's eyes widened. "What the _heck_ is that?"

Phoebe, once again, all-knowing, adjusted her glasses. "Actually Sid, what you are watching is a phenomena commonly known as a dirt devil, a smaller and less ferocious version of tornadoes. Dirt devils are fairly common and harmless, although it's sort of unprecedented to have one in this part of the country." On that note, the dirt devil engulfed the group of kids, rounding up with it the sand and a little bit of moisture from the river. It seemed to hover over them before the whole thing dissolved, dropping the remaining sand over them. For a few seconds, there was a stunned silence.

Stinky, who had been in silent contemplation the whole time, spoke up. "That's it, Arnold, this r'ally bites!" he said, dusting himself off, and walking towards the dock. "I'm fed up with all'a this diggin' and stuff. I quit!" Soon, the rest of the gang followed closely behind him, all muttering in agreement.

"Yeah, lets all go home…and get some food!" Harold said, raising his fist. He was received with many shouts of agreement. Feeling power suddenly with his fist, he rallied the rest of the class. "Yeah, all of you can come over my house, and we'll have a party. Yeah, and we'll watch Wrestlemania on TV…my Mom taped it," the kids enthusiastically followed Harold to the dock as Earl pulled up with his boat. While they were boarding, Helga glanced back and saw Arnold still sitting there. Curious to see what was bothering him, she walked up to him quietly and joined put her hands on her hips.

"Well, aren't you coming, Football Boy?" she jeered, hovering over Arnold. Helga temporarily dropped her façade when she saw that Arnold was not responding in his usual way to her tormenting. She sat on the rock above him and glared at him. "Are you okay, Arnold?" she asked, concern marking her brow. 

Arnold, not seeming to catch this, got up from his place in the sand and walked slowly toward the dock where the rest of the gang was waiting. "I'm just a little bit disappointed, Helga. I mean, its not like I actually expected to find a pot of gold or something, but I expected to find something better. I don't think anybody gets that," Arnold said, speeding up his pace and leaving Helga behind. Helga sighed, as if silently going through her "Oh, Arnold," routine in her head, before running to catch up with the other kids. The all got in the boat, and sat for a while, looking from one face to the other. Helga, rolling her eyes, finally spoke up.

"Well!"

* * *

"Oh, oh yeah, cut!" Arnold said, suddenly snapping out of the moment. With that, all of the kids loosened up, and the murmur of conversation began.

"Jeez, Arnold, you'd thing if you had a part as important as _director_, you would remember what you were supposed to do," Helga said as Peapod Kid dismantled the camera and put it in the boat.

Arnold sighed. "Well, Helga, Mr. Simmons just gave the role to me a few days ago, and I'm not used to it yet."

"And I'm glad about it!" Gerald exclaimed, leaning back in the boat. "At least it isn't _Helga_ calling all the shots," he said comfortably.

Helga raised her eyebrow. "Oh yeah, Geraldo, you wanna come and say that to my face?" Helga snarled.

Gerald took the challenge. "Gladly. I said, at least it isn't _Helga_, that's you, calling all the shots."

Helga was indignant. "Oh yeah, well what do you _call_ this one?" she said, raising her fist to Gerald's chin.

"Arg, I've got the feelin' ye'd be getting' restless. Why don' we sing a song on the way home?" Earl suggested as the boat traveled along.

Arnold interjected. "Yeah, and how about not."

* * * * * *

After the filming for the day was over and Arnold and Gerald returned from the dinners, they walked under a dusky sky. Gerald was bouncing his slightly deflated basketball on the sidewalk as they walked. "I'm telling you, Arnold, if I have to work another day under Helga G. Pataki, I'm liable to go nuts! She drives me crazy, Arnold!" Gerald exclaimed as Monkeyman passed them, running from a dog. "And you know how _cool_ I usually am about these things. If anyone knows, you know."

Arnold sighed. "I know, Gerald, but sometimes…I don't know."

"What! What do you mean '_I don't know_?' Yeah, I'm cool all the time, and don't you forget it," Gerald said, stopping dribbling his basketball.

Arnold shook his head. "No, it's not that. I'm talking about the way Helga acts."

"Aww, man, don't worry about _Helga_. Worry about us, how we're going to deal with _her_ for the next few days," Gerald said, as they stopped at an ice cream stand to get some ice cream.

"I mean, I've gotten so used to Helga bugging me, me at least, that I've come almost to accept it, you know?" Arnold admitted. "It's so much easier not to get mad at her and just accept that as how she acts. I don't know, sometimes I think that if she acted any other way than she does, I wouldn't know how to take it."

Gerald chuckled curtly. "Well, I would…hallelujah! That's what I would say," Gerald said. He and Arnold laughed. "But seriously, Arnold, with you now as director, you realize that you can do anything you want with this, right? You can put Helga in check…not permanently, but at least while we're stuck doing this project. I mean, essentially you could say the word, and give Helga the boot!"

Arnold's eyes lit up. "You know, you're right, Gerald."

Gerald smiled. "I know I am. So, when are you booting her out?"

"I'm not 'booting her out,' Gerald. I'm just going to talk to her, see if we can't get our differences worked out or something," Arnold said, as the two took their ice creams and headed back in the direction of Sunset Arms.

"You're a bold kid, Arnold. A boooold kid."

"That was a long one."

"Yeah, well, I felt you were deserving."

At least two more parts to go! R&R, tenks. :-]


	3. Part III

No disclaimer this time, boys and girls. I said it, and you know it.

P.S. Sorry for the delay…I've been having internet issues. :-P Bah.

Chapter 3: The _Reel_ Thing, Part Two

It was much later that evening when Arnold finally resolved to talk to Helga about her position as screenwriter for the school project. He was upstairs, watching a jazz concert on public television with his nine-inch television set he kept in the bookshelf beside his bed. His overhead lights were dimmed, and it was rather late, so he was in a mellow mood. Knowing that his nerves were calmed, he was more willing to discuss with Helga the project than earlier when he might have gotten slightly upset by any of her insults. He reached over next to his bed and picked up his cordless and dialed Helga's number. Big Bob picked it up.

Meanwhile, at the Pataki home, Helga was buried in the living room sofa, her script backed by that week's issue of _TV Guide_ as she wrote feverishly. She paused for a while, eyeing her script, reading what she had just scribbled down on her page. "Perfect, perfect…this is pure genius, I tell you, one hundred percent…"

"Hey Helga…Helga…HELGA! Miriam, where's the girl?" Bob bellowed through the house.

Helga sighed. "I'm _here_, Dad. Maybe you would actually know where I was if you _looked_," Helga edged as she stood up on the side of the sofa, ignoring the fact that her father actually got her name right.

Bob was not moved by Helga's tone. "Hey, hey, hey! Watch the tone, little lady. Anyway, phone's for you. It's that annoying kid you go to school with, what's his name…Andrew," Bob concluded, vaguely remembering the sight of Arnold from various occasions in which he had confronted him. "And would you _stop_ using my _TV Guide_ to write on. Crimeny! That's what they made books for!" Bob said, giving Helga the phone and snatching the _TV Guide_ from her.

"Yeah, sure, whatever Bob," Helga muttered as she picked up the phone. "Yeah, who's this?" Helga answered the phone casually.

From the other side, Arnold was interrupted by his jazz induced trance enough to reply. "Hi, Helga. This is me, Arnold."

Helga's heart skipped a beat when she heard it was Arnold on the phone. Somehow, she wasn't able to snap out of her mode. "Oh, well, hello Arnold. Well, jeez, I wasn't expecting you to call _me_," she responded in a timid voice, noticing that her father was still in the living room, drinking a Yahoo.

Helga's response caught Arnold a little off guard, and he hardly knew what to say. That was weird, no 'What are you doing calling _me_, Football Head,' as he anticipated. He was silent for a while before he got his conversation stared back up. "Um…yeah. So Helga, I was calling you talk about the project, if that's alright with you?"

This time, Helga was able to snap out of the surprise and delight of Arnold calling her and returned, for the most part, back to her normal self. "Oh yeah? What _about_ the project?" she edged.

"I just thought I'd call to get a few things straight with you before we continue filming," Arnold said collectedly, turning up on his small television a jazz arrangement he particularly liked.

"_Well?_" Helga said, becoming more alert as she sat up on the couch. Bob glared at her casually, and then flipped through his _TV Guide_.

Arnold thought about the best approach to the topic before he continued. "First of all, let me congratulate you for all you have done for the project. I think that your screenplay is really good, and everyone is just like they are in real life. You write really well," Arnold said, trying a more passive approach. Helga didn't buy it.

"Look, _Arnold_. Enough with the formalities! Cut to the chase, will you? I know you didn't call me on a Saturday night to complement me," Helga said loudly, drawing more attention to herself. Miriam, at that point, came out of the kitchen, sat besides Helga on the couch with her mug of coffee, and turned on the television.

Arnold shrugged. "Why not? I'm serious. Anyway, I just had a few suggestions to make, and since Mr. Simmons appointed me director, I have the authority to make them and have them heeded," Arnold sat up in his bed, not willing to pause to let Helga comment. "But it's not that serious, Helga. I was wondering if you couldn't be…I don't know…a little more _nice_ to everyone, at least while we're doing this project?"

Helga, for whatever delight was left from receiving the phone call, now switched to indignant. "Oh, so what are you saying, Football Head?"

"What I'm saying, Helga, is that a lot of people like doing the project, and they think the story is cool and everything, but that you are sort of spoiling it fort the rest of them," Arnold admitted honestly.

Helga was a bit taken aback. "So what, they're all saying this behind my back?"

"It's not like you're not being your _usual_ self, Helga, it's just that…well, not everyone enjoys being with you being your _usual_ self for eight hours, doing scenes over and over again," Arnold said defensively. He braced himself for whatever came next.

Helga's eyebrows were furrowed as she gave Arnold's comments some thought. "So, I suppose you feel this way too, huh Arnold?" she said, the edge still very much present in her voice.

Arnold chose his words carefully, but failed to convey the sentiment he wanted to. "Well, no Helga, I don't feel that way. I guess it's just because I've known you longer than some of the others, or maybe that I'm more used to you, or that I've just learned how to take it better," Arnold resolved.

Helga was silent for a while, once again confronted for her harsh personality. "Well gosh, Arnold, since you put it that way, I guess I could be more nice," she said sarcastically. "Now that I know that everyone just _pretends_ to respect me and go around talking about me behind my back, I really want to be nice to them. I mean, it's okay if they're backstabbers, at least I can be smiling all the way to my _grave_," Helga edged, her voice escalating. "Okay, Arnold, if that's the way it is, that's fine. That's just dandy. We'll just see what happens next time we film."

Arnold smiled, as the sarcasm was slightly funny. He returned the irony. "Well, I'm glad to know that you take constructive criticism so well."

"Yeah, yeah, stick it in your ear, Football Head," Helga finally said, hanging up the phone and trudging up the stairs, not giving any indication that she would return. Miriam, who at this point was still awake, and Bob had listened to Helga's entire conversation for lack of a better thing to do. They looked at each other before Miriam made an outburst.

"Oh, you know what B, that's it! That kid, I never connected it before, but his head does look _exactly_ like a football. It's uncanny, B," Miriam said, shifting to the seat Helga occupied on the couch.

Big Bob, changing the television channel after leafing through the guide, joined Miriam on the couch. "Yeah, talk about a bunch of weirdoes. Some of those folks out there, I'm telling you Miriam, you'd think you were living in a huge freak show," Bob said brazenly, narrowing his eyes as the television came on.

* * *

The scene opened up with Arnold, dressed in khaki shorts, a ratty t-shirt and a canvas vest full of pockets, slashing his way through the dense overgrowth in the understory of the Elk Island forest. His socks were covered in burs. Over his shoulder he slung a black garbage bag, and in his right hand he was armed with a shovel. In his left hand, he had a flashlight, for it was the dead of night and the moon was behind the clouds. Due to his lack of sight, his senses picked up, and he suddenly became aware of a rustling that was not his own. He stopped for a while, and the rustling also stopped. He shrugged and continued walking, and the rustling continued. This time when he stopped, he could hear the rustling closer. In a panic, he quickly shined the light in the direction of the sound, but no one was there. But, he still heard rustling.

"Hey Arnold!"

"Aaah!" Arnold shouted, jumping to see who---or what---had just placed a hand on his shoulder. It was Gerald, his face glowing eerily in the light of the flashlight.

Gerald jumped slightly, too. "Hey, chill out man. It's just me," Gerald said, clicking on his flashlight and shining it on his face. He and Arnold exchanged their usual handshake as Arnold relaxed. "So Arnold, my man, what are you _doing_ out here? It's late!"

Arnold sighed. "I know that, Gerald. It's just that…I got to talking to Helga, and…wait a minute, what are _you_ doing here?" said Arnold, side stepping the question.

"Simple," Gerald began to explain. "I called your Grandpa's, he said you had gone for a walk, so I figured you had come back here." Gerald eyed Arnold, spinning the flashlight by the sting on its back end. "I knew you were pretty preoccupied after we left this afternoon, and I figured you would come back by yourself, you know?"

Arnold shrugged. "Yeah, that's basically it. I figured if no one else wanted to search for the Treasure of Leppy, that I would."

"Yeah right, Arnold, like I'd let you keep the whole treasure to yourself!" Gerald laughed, narrowing his eyes at Arnold. The two of them continued on Arnold's path through the understory of the forest. Gerald was also dressed for the occasion, in a camouflage outfit with a cap topping his hair, and black army boots. Gerald then whispered to Arnold, as they continued, "But Arnold, enlighten me about something, will ya? What has Helga Pataki got to do with this?"

Arnold glared at Gerald in silhouette as they trudged on. "Well, Helga asked if I was okay yesterday, and I explained to her why I really wanted to find the treasure, and after talking to her, well, I felt as if I should come back," Arnold resolved.

Gerald chuckled. "Helga actually _asked _if you were okay? Don't you find that just a little bit _odd_, Arnold?" Gerald asked. Before Arnold could respond, both he and Gerald noticed that some of the leaves from the trees began to fall. They looked up just in time to see a large shadow plummeting to the ground below. The overgrown brush broke its fall. Arnold and Gerald, not knowing what to expect, looked at each other, then looked at the shadow that fell.

"And why is _that_ so strange, Geraldo!" the shadow sneered, emerging from the ground. "Well, what are you two goofs gawking at, give me some room here!" Gerald shined the flashlight on the shadow.

"Helga…I should have guessed," Gerald said, grunting in displeasure.

Helga turned to scowl at him. "Hey, watch the light, will ya," she edged, as Arnold provided his hand to help her out. She rose to her feet, and dusted the plant debris from her khaki skort and beige tank top. She kicked her work boots against the tree and then leaned against the tree nonchalantly.

Arnold scratched his head in confusion. "Wait Helga, what are you doing here?"

Helga squinted at him. "Hey! I didn't ask what you and _Gerald_ are doing here. It's a free country, you know?" Helga said, glaring at Arnold. "Besides, I got to thinking about what you said earlier, and it made sense," Helga said, softening but still scowling. She averted her eyes from Arnold as he looked at her. "In truth, I'm sorry for ridiculing you and everything---your idea wasn't that bad," Helga struggled to say, looking back at Arnold and frowning.

Arnold then smirked and narrowed his eyes at Helga, a look she wasn't used to receiving. She was caught of guard, and she relented her continuous scowl and flushed slightly. She began to stutter something unintelligible as Gerald glared at the two of them, and then shook his head.

"Hey, what'd I miss here?" he asked, crosses his arms. Before either Arnold or Helga could respond, they noticed a small figure emerging from the trees. It slid down the trunk of the tree and then jumped to the ground once about five feet above it.

Helga snapped out of her state once the figure arrived. "Hey Phoebs, what took ya?" Helga said, a little tension in her voice. Phoebe noticed this, and eyed Helga as she straightened her shorts. She and Helga were nearly matching.

"Well Helga, although your fall was broken by this vegetation, I didn't want to take the chance of having to endure serious injury, so I descended from the tree," Phoebe said, adjusting her glasses. Gerald shined his flashlight on Phoebe.

"Hey Phoebe, nice threads," he complimented. Phoebe flushed and giggled in response.

Helga rolled her eyes. "Oh brother," she mumbled under her breath. Phoebe shot a harsh glance at Helga from that response, and Helga shrugged.

Arnold, who ignored the entire interchange, continued on. "Well, since there are four of us now, maybe we can cover more ground. But, we have to get our bearings first. We're just a few feet from the clearing up ahead. There we can decide how we're going to do this," Arnold resolved, leading the small group toward the clearing. They were the first of many more small groups to arrive.

From across the clearing came Rhonda and Nadine, Nadine enthusiastically chasing after a large moth and Rhonda straying behind, examining her eyes in her pocket mirror. From the other corner came Harold, Stinky and Sid, teasing each other as the climbed a hill. Sheena, Eugene and Curly came loudly out of the woods, Sheena carrying an injured Eugene with her.

__

"I'm okay."

Arnold looked from face to face enthusiastically, seeing how everyone had come dressed and prepared for the search. Excitement showed in his eyes. "Wow, all of you actually came back, even after all you said?"

Rhonda sighed. "Well yeah, we came, but not entirely of our own free will," she said, as she took out an emory board to file her nails. She was about to continue when she saw Helga glaring at her. "I mean---we did it for you, Arnold," she grinned sheepishly at Helga.

Arnold, now beaming more than ever, smiled widely now. Helga also began to smile as if some of his happiness had rubbed off on her. "Well, what are we waiting for, then? Let's go!" he exclaimed, as the rest of the kids prepared to run back into the forest.

"Wait a minute!" Phoebe yelled over the group. "Before we all scatter on this excursion, we need to formulate some type of party division, organizing into uniform groups, designating a meeting place and time, and determining what issues to call to order if and when the artifacts are actually found." The group of kids looked at each other for a while, after Phoebe's speech, and was silent.

Harold broke the silence. "I say we run through this entire stinkin' island 'til we find that pot of gold!" The entire class agreed, leaving Helga and Phoebe standing in the clearing as their rushed footsteps could be heard through the forest.

Helga chuckled slightly as Phoebe realized she had been left alone. "Ah Phoebs, lighten up. Why do you always have to go by the book?"

Phoebe sighed. "Well Helga, why not? I mean, it's worked for me before."

Helga raised her eyebrow at her. "Oh yeah, so what, you get everything from your little braniac sources? What do they say?" Helga then put on a deep voice, mocking the voice heard in the background of infomercials. "Chapter 1: How to flirt." Phoebe gasped and her eyes widened as Helga continued. "If your man compliments you, you must flush and giggle shyly."

"Helga!"

* * *

"Cut, cut!" Arnold exclaimed, emerging from behind a bush where he and the others had previously dispersed.

Helga stopped abruptly in slight surprise. "Whoa, Football Head, could you be a little more abrupt? Sheesh, we need a little fade out time," Helga said, squinting in the light of Arnold's flashlight.

Arnold walked forward, pointing the flashlight downward so that Helga could once again see. "Sorry about that, Helga…"

"About which?"

"About both," Arnold confirmed. Both of them relaxed, not having to look at each other directly in the darkness. "But, its almost ten o'clock, and most of us told our parents we'd be home by nine," Arnold said, twisting Helga's arm to look at her watch. Helga snatched her hand from Arnold's, scowling at him though he could not see.

She then turned to Phoebe, who by now was approaching the forests. Slightly surprised, she ran to catch up with her. "Hey Phoebs, what's the rush?" she yelled before tripping on an uprooted root from a tree in the forest. She looked up from the ground and emerged sheepishly.

Phoebe glared at Helga as she stood. "Helga, how could you?" she whispered sharply as they both stood in the clearing.

Helga shrugged. "Well, I don't know; I wouldn't have if that stupid root wasn't randomly sticking out of the ground," Helga said softly, brushing the dirt from her outfit.

Phoebe grunted. "Oh, don't play innocent with me, Helga. You know perfectly well what I am referring to," she said, looking sharply at Helga.

Helga, not particularly moved by Phoebe's accusation, shrugged casually. "Okay, and what if I don't?"

"That's it," Phoebe said, throwing off her safari hat. "I've just about enough of this, and you as screenwriter, and your adlibs. I'm going," she said, turning from Helga and walking away with determination.

Helga looked on with slight confusion, picking up the hat she had given to Phoebe for the filming, and looked after Phoebe. "So Phoebs, you coming back tomorrow to finish up?"

Phoebe stopped in her tracts and glared back at Helga. "If you're still here, don't count on it, Helga G. Pataki," Phoebe sneered somewhat mockingly. Helga's eyes widened slightly with that comment as Phoebe disappeared into the woods.

"Hmm…what's eating her?" Helga wondered as she stuffed the hat into her backpack, hefted it onto her back, and walked through the woods to find the port where Earl was probably still waiting.

* * * * * *

It was a bright Sunday afternoon as Arnold walked Abner through the park. On the way, he contemplated how to approach Helga on the subject of her argument with Phoebe. Although the argument about the maintenance of their friendship was the most valid issue, Phoebe was one of the essential characters of the screenplay. It would ruin the whole project if those two weren't cooperating. As he thought to himself, Abner picked up Helga's scent, and began to lead Arnold on the path to where she was sitting, on a bench in the park.

Before Helga noticed the arrival of Abner's snout, she was staring at the screenplay, as if the words on the paper would fade away under her glare. Finally, after a while of intense eyeing, she dramatically erased an entire paragraph, ripping a hole in the paper. Disgusted with the entire effort, she tore the paper from the pad, crumpled it, and hurled it as far as her arm would let it fly, and it landed conveniently in a trash can by the tree across from her. While she sighed in exasperation at her script, once a masterpiece, lying in disarray, she noticed the pig sniffing at her feet.

"Arnold, give it a rest," she said flatly before she even acknowledged the presence of Arnold beyond his pet.

Arnold, who was growing impatient from his encounters with Helga, added a little edge into his voice. "Helga, you know, you could at least hear me out before you totally blow me off…"

"Hey Arnold, I'm doing you a favor here. Don't waste your breath---what's done is done," Helga concluded, looking up from the scattered papers to face Arnold. "Phoebe decides she doesn't want to participate anymore; fine, she doesn't have to. All I have to do is write her out of the script, and if anyone has a problem with this script as opposed to my old one, they have her to thank," Helga said, as she began to write furiously on a piece of clean paper on her pad.

Arnold sighed. "Helga, I don't get you. I thought Phoebe was your friend, like, your best friend. And you're treating her just like another disgruntled actor. It should be in your interest to patch things up," Arnold reasoned while pulling on Abner's leash as he attempted to chase a cabbage butterfly.

Helga finished writing her paragraph, stared back at it admirably, and then turned back to Arnold. "Look, Head Boy, I don't have time for all of that. The show must go on, and I can no longer make accommodations for those who don't appreciate my writing style," Helga said, before ultimately throwing that paragraph into the garbage. "Now, if you would excuse me, _Arnold_…"

"No, _you_ excuse me, Helga," Arnold spoke up. "You are _not_ the decision maker in this operation. If you recall, I was appointed director, and I feel I have been abdicating some of my duties under this title. No matter how nice I wanted to be about this thing, you leave me no choice." Helga stopped her writing and narrowed her eyes at Arnold as he continued to speak. "I'm giving you two options. The first option has two parts. It will require you to mend relations with Phoebe at least enough that you two can cooperate and finish the movie as it was agreed upon. The second part is that you must honor the requests and suggestions of all of our classmates from now on, because this is a group project…"

"But it was _my_ brainchild!" Helga finally asserted, standing up from the bench as she set her stack of papers next to her.

Before she could get in any other words, Arnold interjected by holding up his hand. "Yes, Helga, it was your idea, and in my opinion, you have put a lot more hard work and dedication into this thing than perhaps any of the rest of us did, and I commend you for that," Arnold said, calming his voice. He noticed that Helga, although not reacting momentously, raised an eyebrow and slumped a little from her confrontational stance. "But the fact remains that you couldn't have pulled any of this off without the rest of us. You need the techies and the actors. So you owe us a little bit more consideration for helping you to realize your brainchild."

Helga stood in her disturbed position in front of the bench, and looked down as she considered Arnold's proposal. She then crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes in what was left of her fury. "So, what's option two?" she asked quietly as she glanced at Arnold.

"The second option is that the project is suspended indefinitely, and if restarted, the screenplay would be rewritten such that everyone in the group is willing to participate."

"Hmm…somehow, I like the first option better."

With this revelation, Arnold smiled. "I knew you would come to your _good_ senses soon," he said, patting Helga on the back. Lost in her thoughts for the moment, Helga did not respond in her characteristic manner to the physical contact shared between Arnold and her. As Arnold walked away, he noticed this peculiarity, and eyed Helga suspiciously as he left. "So, will that script of yours be done by tomorrow, then?"

Helga sat back down to her scattered papers and began to stack them, at first not hearing what Arnold said. "Huh? Oh yeah, sure, sure. It'll be done, and everyone will be happy…" she mumbled to herself, a little less than cynically, as she began to sort the papers.

"What was that?"

"I said yes already! Crimeny, do you want me to write it in a letter? Jeez…"

"Just checking…" Arnold said, his voice trailing off as Abner dragged him in the direction of the fountain deeper into the park. 

Helga looked up from her papers to watch after him as he left, and then sighed and returned to the disarray that once was a completed script. "Well Helga ol' girl, looks like we're going back to the drawing boards…again, huh?" she said to herself, picking up the papers and heading out of the park in the opposite direction.


End file.
